


These four walls

by Buggirl



Series: May to September [10]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6693784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buggirl/pseuds/Buggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MacCready has agreed to head back to the Capital Wasteland and he and Molly spend a precious few hours together before he leaves. This occurs at the end of chapter 4 (Grief is the price paid for love) of The road not taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These four walls

The door shuts loudly behind her and it makes MacCready jump. He dumps his rifle and Molly’s pack full of herbs and roots at the foot of the bedroom chair before taking his wet duster off and throwing it in the corner. He sits down, eases into the squeaky comfort of the chair, and watches her.

The sensation of water trickling from Molly’s hairline down the back of her neck and into her collar makes her tremble. He throws her a towel and part of the sadness of the day wipes away when she sees him smile.

Molly dabs the cottony material over her face and unbuttons her flannel shirt, soaked from the sudden downpour. The material clings to her skin as she slides it over her arms. He appears barely touched by the rain, the clothes he wears more waterproof than hers except for a few beaded drops on his hat and his arms. Even his face looks dry, sheltered by the brim of his cap.

She takes her time, to dry her torso, to sit and remove her boots and wet pants, fully aware that his eyes never leave her. She’ll miss this attention, the way he watches her undress, the way he smiles as each piece of clothing slides from her body. She rubs each leg slowly, up and down, only taking attention away from her task to sneak a glance in his direction. She undoes her bra shaking it off and tossing it leisurely to one side, then slides her underwear unhurriedly over her hips. He sits up and licks his lips appreciatively.

She saunters naked over to him, sits on his knee, and drapes an arm languidly over his shoulder.

“Molly, we don’t have to do this,” he says as he rubs her arm.

Molly bites her lip. “If you don’t want to, then no, we don’t.”

He scratches his temple and his eyes fall to her breasts then back up to her face. “No I mean you, I’m always up for it.”

With a degree of solemnity she removes his cap for him, tosses it to the side and sighs. “Mac, you’re leaving in a few hours, for, I don’t know how long. Are you refusing sex out of some sort of noble thoughts about me being in mourning?”

“I just thought– the last thing–”

She pushes her breasts against him and the roughness of the fatigues he wears rubs against her nipples. “Today I buried my husband, but I’ve been grieving from the moment I left the vault. That’s almost ten months ago. This is my moment to break free from that.” Her hands run through his hair and she feels the dampness at the back of his head. “I’ve said my goodbyes to Nate, and now, I wish to say goodbye to the man I love, before he– before you leave.”

He relaxes into a smile. “If you’re gonna put it like that–”

She pulls the rain soaked scarf from his neck. “Yeah I’m gonna put it like that. I owe myself this, a small, brief pleasure perhaps, but I hope it will stay for longer than a moment.”

MacCready draws her in against him and places a hand firmly on her bare leg. “I can’t argue against living for the moment. And months away from you–” He snorts a laugh. “Five fingered widow might get a workout.” He leans forward and kisses the tops of her breasts.

She gives a subdued laugh at the bawdy reference, squirms as his hand grips tighter on her thigh and plants a kiss, her lips press hard against his. He tastes like gum and sugar bombs, masking a background of cigarettes. She no longer minds the flavor; it reminds her of pleasure, warmth and the comfort of _him._

All the emotions she’s had over The Institute, the loss of Nate and now Shaun, are crashing around her. These are things she never predicted for herself. Yet she remains standing, about to make love with a man who is not her husband, in the remnants of the house that was once her much loved home, next to a room with an empty crib once full of dreams for the future. Molly will make this moment all hers.

She stands and moves to the bed where she sits and rolls her hands back and forth over the smooth, crisp covers. She remains quiet, waiting for him to make a move and knowing he is staring at her again. She likes the sensation it creates in her, that he’s looking at her like she’s his whole world, and the world is simple, just this room and them. His eyes and the cool air make her hair stand on end and goosebumps form across her limbs. She crosses her legs, slowly, one leg over the other and places her hands folded on her knee.

It’s only a small movement really, but it has him wiping his hand across his bottom lip, as if hungry for a meal, and she can’t help but smile when he leans down to remove his boots and throw them in the corner. His fatigues come next, unbuttoned fast, then his pants. Finally his tank top, one she had bought from the Institute and still pristine and unsullied with dirt. His underwear, new and glaringly white is already under strain from his erection. She covers her mouth, but her laughter permeates the small room– _their_ room.

He moves next to her and she runs a finger along the inside of the waistband of his underpants, then traces the firm outlines of his erection. He smiles and reaches down to run his finger along her jaw line. He tucks his hand under her chin, brings her face up to look at him and rubs an abrasive thumb along her bottom lip. His blue eyes are held stern but she knows any minute the playful look will burst from them, like it always does.

They move in unison, like dancers, as he pushes her back against the soft covers of the bed. His skin feels hot against her cool, it brings out more goosebumps and skin against skin sends a jolt to her loins. Their mouths connect once more and she runs a hand to the back of his head to grip onto his thick thatch of mousey brown hair.

This is a familiar feeling, lust and warmth and the pulse in her clit. When he’s not around she misses his gentle mouth and the taste of whiskey kisses late in the night. It’s too early for whiskey but the memory of them never fades.

Callouses on his fingertips dig into the smooth softness of her thighs. He’s never hurt her, but he’s rough and unrefined and she likes it that way, because it’s _his_ way. Against the Wasteland harshness it feels tender even though it pinches in delicate places. He’s always eager, the mark of a young man keen for sex, but also eager to please. There are times when she’s told him to slow down, that it’s not a race to the finish, at other times she wants it hard and fast and he always obliges. He listens, like he always does, patient and responsive in ways she never expected given his years.

She reaches down to tuck her hand in his underpants, her fingers graze the tip of his cock before delving lower and wrapping her hand around his length and freeing him above the waistband.

He gives her a small smile as he maneuvers to between her knees. He pushes her legs apart as he shuffles his underpants down and off. His hand goes to her soft ginger curls, not damp from the rain but from desire. He rubs her vulva, smears her arousal over her clit and hums as he circles.

Molly responds with a muted moan. “Yes, just there,” she whispers. Her hand reaches for his cock again and pumps slowly.

Their arms entwine as they touch one another, his cock grows firmer with each tug of her hand, until she feels liquid ooze from the head and makes her fingers slippery. Their eyes are locked on one another until she feels her orgasm mount. Then her lids close and she mumbles his name under her breath, nostrils flaring with each pass of a coarse digit over her clit. Molly tries to keep up her ministrations on his cock, but is distracted by her own mounting climax. She keeps her eyes shut tight and, holds him in her hand as firm as she can before she hears him chuckle, soft and low and with the hint of mischievousness, she’s come to know so well. She’s almost there, right on the edge of her orgasm and it’s though he senses it and pulls his hand away. She opens her eyes and sighs breathlessly, “I was almost there–”

“I know,” he says as her grip loosens on him and he positions himself above her with a smug grin plastering his face. She feels his cock against her thigh. “I want to feel you come on my cock. I’m selfish like that.”

She swallows and shakes her head in mock disapproval. “You atrocious boy.”

He chuckles. “Appallingly selfish.” He kisses her hard then positions himself at her entrance and rubs his cock up and down her slit before slowly pushing forward. He needn’t have worried about taking it slow; being on the point of orgasm she’s lubricated well enough he could slip straight in with none of the usual resistance. She’s as hungry for him as she sees he is for her. He moans, and she knows it’s the heat of her enveloping him that gives him this level of pleasure.

She moves her legs up and around him, setting herself up so that when he begins to move against her, he pushes against her clit. She kisses his shoulder and neck and wraps her arms up under his and around so her palms lay flat on his shoulder blades. She intersperses the breath into his neck with kisses, small quiet moans and whimpers, letting him fill her; his movement inside her keeps at a slow steady pace. She closes her eyes again and lets the pressure of his torso against her work to reclaim her previous state of arousal.

Underneath the euphoria from his increasing strokes she remembers what bought her here, to this moment. Its bittersweet memories of their time together and her despair of what happened to her family, but it’s not all sadness and gloom, it’s punctuated with moments of happiness and content, of desire and gratification in his arms, on the road, sharing a joke or a fond memory of the past. There are things she is yet to tell him, of sadness and loss from her previous life – this is not the time for that, but she will tell him, and when she does, she knows he’ll be there for her. For now though, she’ll concentrate on the pleasure he gives her.

She continues her soft moans and whimpers as he whispers hoarsely into her ear. “Molly, if you keep moaning like that I’m going to come before you.”

She kisses his neck. “No, no you won’t.” When she falls she gasps then stills so that all that she feels is the walls of her cunt tighten against his cock. A swell of bliss hits her several times and she emits a higher than usual pitch moan.

He’s still moving at an even tempo inside her, but stops when she arches into him. He stifles her moan with a soft kiss, then lifts his head. “That—that feels amazing. Damn, that’s–”

She opens her eyes to him, her vision slightly blurred and her chest rising and falling against his with deep breaths. She still has small waves of remnant orgasm washing over her and his gaze dances about on her face.

He has an absurd smile and it almost splits his face in two. “Fu—da—Molly, you look so fu- you look so sexy when you come.”

She rains breathless kisses on his face, soft, hard, pecked and then long and slow. “Don’t stop,” she repeats between kisses. “Don’t stop.”

He begins to move again, the strokes faster than before.

“Harder,” she squeals and squeezes his shoulders.

He chuckles lewdly and slips out of her, pushes her roughly on to her side and slides in behind her, lifts her leg and slips his cock back inside her cunt with a fast simple movement. He holds her leg firmly again, like he did before, fingertips digging into her thigh as he thrusts. The sound of flesh slapping on flesh reverberates around the room, his grunts only stifled by her kisses. A hand creeps to her breast and squeezes.

He places his forehead against her temple and speaks into her ear. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. You and your beautiful body, your beautiful cunt. Fuck. I can’t get enough of you. I can’t, Molly–”

“Mhmm, language now, Mac,” she pants and laughs between moans.

“I know, but I can’t help it– because, fuck–” he says and kisses her again. “Is this hard enough for you, Angel?”

Molly moans again and nods in affirmation of his thrusts. “Yes, yes.”

He groans and moans loudly, and she’s grateful that most of the settlers are back at work whilst they lay here. She looks back at him with an out-of-focus gaze, he has sweat dripping from his nose and it beads on his forehead and upper lip. She reaches a hand back to run over his shoulder as his hand grips harder on her thigh. He makes several deep thrusts that push her forward and one long loud grunt that he ends with a laugh before running his arm around her and bringing her in tight against him.

She can feel the sweat from his torso against her back and drips on her inner thigh as he withdraws. He kisses her shoulder.

“I love you, Molly. I love you. I love you.” He kisses her neck and holds her in a vice like grip.

She doesn’t want him to let go, she feels safe, warm, and very much loved.

In several hours, he’ll be gone, and this feeling she has, the warmth, not just in her sex but all over her body, will be gone too. All she’ll have is a memory. She hopes he’ll return, to this settlement, to this house, to this bed, but she’ll not tell him this because she fears that it may not come true. Best to hold on to that, keep it wrapped up inside in a tight little ball, keep it safe and secreted away lest it be stolen away from her like everything else. She’ll savor those feelings for moments when she is alone.

He lets go of her and she turns to him laying kisses on his beard, his moustache and nose. He hums, laughs, and draws his arms around her. In the dappled light of the afternoon sun peaking in through the curtains, she lays her head on his chest before reaching for more kisses. “Angel–” she whispers. “I like that.”


End file.
